


a hopeless genesis

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: After MAG 160, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Welcome to Jonathan's poor decisions, first chapter is typical-style transcript the rest is written as a story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22701817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jonathan Blackwood is gone. That much is known. Martin is left scrambling to pick up the pieces when he discovers that there are more powerful forces on earth than mere fear.And those gods hunger, too.
Relationships: I'll add as I go, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	a hopeless genesis

[INT. SMALL PATH THROUGH A FOREST OUTSIDE OF BOURNEMOUTH.]

[TAPE CLICKS ON. WHIRRING IN THE BACKGROUND, MIXED WITH JON’S HESITANT BREATHING AND HEAVY STATIC.]

[LEAVES CRUNCH UNDERFOOT.]

 **THE ARCHIVIST** :

Statement—Statement of— ( _stuttering off)_

[HE STOPS, COLLECTING HIMSELF. HE TAKES A DEEP BREATH. HE NEEDS TO PERSIST. HE MUST. FOR THEM. THE STATIC DIES DOWN.]

 _(continuing)_ Statement of Jonathan Blackwood, The Archivist, regarding the occurring apocalypse, reflections on my husband, and the events to follow. Though I suppose it will soon be former Archivist, won’t it? _(sad chuckling, before seriousness)_

Ahem.

 **THE ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)** :

By now, you have likely determined what I am about to do. Either it is already done by the time you listen to this, or I have failed, and the world is doomed to an eternal bombardment of the senses. I will not say it, not know it, for the consequences of doing so are too great. I will leave hints for you to put the pieces together yourself. Think of it as breadcrumbs to prepare you for the inevitable feast. When we all gorge and return to slumber.

I can say this for certain: there is no one I would have rather spent the apocalypse with. These last few months, cursed as they may be, have been a blessing with you at my side.

I feel as if we didn’t always interact. We _knew_ of one another, but always kept ourselves on the cusp of strangeness. Now that has fallen away, I can say also that it has been a pleasure to truly know you. Not to See, but to feel your presence in a passive way, more than a brush by in the hallway. It’s so funny how much time you can spend around someone and never truly know them. Looking back, the most important detail I note is how much I miss people I assumed would play no role in my life. Sasha, Tim, Melanie. I carry no small amount of guilt. If I hadn’t—If I had been better, it wouldn’t have happened at all. It seems all the disasters in my life have a common thread: me.

[CRUNCHING STOPS. JON IS STANDING IN CONTEMPLATION.]

That’s just it, isn’t it? I am the tie; I am the bond that has connected this series of events. I believe in my current state, unchanged, the Ceaseless Watcher will never once turn its gaze from our sky. I was crafted. A tool, with a direct purpose to be tended to with specific care. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. It’s funny, how much I believe that to have been my greatest fear.

[A LAUGH. IT’S HOLLOW, AND THE HEAVY STATIC RETURNS.]

And now? My fear is drained. Every ounce of dread I worried about, all my planning and terror, all gone. My head is pulsing with the _Knowing_. There was never any _door_. Not in me. I _was_ the door. I have been afraid every waking moment of this nightmare. My sleep is sounder than it has been in some time, but I cannot say the same for you. The night is filled with the horrors of the Darkness, the sounds of the Slaughter, and I understand my situation is particularly unique. It is difficult to plan and conspire against an entity that knows all and revels in the act of knowing. Every action with have taken, even in the terror of the unknown, has been peeled away from any dark solace and forcefully dragged to the light.

By me.

Even planning without my knowing has unintended consequences. I do not need to remind you of the night outside Doncaster. No, my obfuscation only worsens the world as a whole. In order to challenge the Eye, I must confront them as an equal.

If only there were a way to do such a thing. If only.

[CRUNCHING RESUMES. JON'S WALKING AGAIN.]

I believe that brings us to the present.

One final note—I am leaving my ring with recorder. I shan’t be needing the latter.

As for the former, I do not what that thing to wear it. I doubt it will have the right. Do not follow me, Martin, I know you will beg and plead to the point the sound has taken over my walking nightmares. I believe in some instances Peter Lukas was right, what with your lofty ambition to smother the Extinction in its crib.

[GRUNTING FROM EXERTION. IT SOUNDS AS IF JON IS SCALING SOMETHING; UP OR DOWN, AND WHAT IS UNKNOWN]

 _(a pause)_ I don’t believe you ever could.

[AN IMPACT SOUND, LEGS HITTING GROUND. HARD.]

It is not because I believe in your weakness. You are the strongest man I have ever met. The world seldom recognizes that strength. In another time, in a place where the world was not crafted from fear, shaped by malice, I believe there would be no stopping you. You are such a kind person.

[THE SOUND OF SAND AS JON WALKS.]

But we are fallible.

The universe has played a cruel game with us. I wonder if that was the intention from the start, to know one of us would seek to destroy the other without realization. I do sometimes suppose that was the Web’s goal all along; to tether us so intricately we could not harm our enemies without great risk of damage to ourselves.

[WAVES CRASHING CAN BE HEARD FAINTLY IN THE DISTANCE.]

It is an unkind world. I once believed with my death the world would lose another monster. I would like to amend that. With the death of Jonathan Blackwood, there will be another creature entirely. Statement ends.

 **THE ARCHIVIST** :

I love you. Tell Elias I quit. If you find what’s left of him.

[RUSTLING. JON REMOVES HIS BLINDFOLD. SCREECHING STATIC.]

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

* * *

[TAPE CLICKS ON]

 **MARTIN (sobbing)** :

That fucking idiot.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

* * *


End file.
